by Monica Burns
“My wife is not twice my age and even if she were, it wouldn’t be any of your concern. So unless you—” Sir Archibald acted as if he’d not heard a word, his gazed fixed on something over Quentin’s shoulder.
“Good god. Who is that ravishing creature?”
Quentin turned his head to see Sophie heading toward them. She did look ravishing, but he was damned if he wanted Sir Archibald noticing. Her chin was tilted at a stubborn angle, and her cheeks were flushed with color. Damnation, something had happened. He could see it in the stricken look in her hazel eyes. Although there was a smile on her lips, there was a fragile air about her. Beside him, Sir Archibald elbowed him and laughed.
“I should have known better, Devlyn. Giving up your lightskirts wasn’t something you could resist. You’ve excellent taste as always, my man. She’s exquisite. When you tire of her, let me know.”
Muscles tight with raw fury, Quentin barely restrained himself from dropping the man to the floor with a hard, right jab. As Sophie reached them, he took her hand and raised it to his lips.
“Well, Countess Devlyn. Shall we go to our box?”
Beside him, Sir Archibald started violently. Without bothering to introduce Milliard to Sophie or even bid the man goodbye, Quentin tucked her arm in his and pulled her toward the stairs. As they moved through the crowd, he noticed Eleanor emerge from the corridor that led to the ladies room. There was a cold look of triumph on the woman’s face as she met his gaze, while tension flowed from Sophie’s body into his. Fuck, Eleanor had said something to hurt Sophie. Quentin clenched his jaw.
“Who’s upset you?” He already knew the answer, but he wanted her to confide in him. She flashed a quick glance in his direction before looking away.
“It’s nothing.” With a graceful move, she lifted the front of her skirt as they started up the stairs to the second level of the theatre. “As usual our marriage is fodder for gossip and curiosity.”
“Why do I think Eleanor has something to do with that?” His question made her stumble slightly on the stairs, but he managed to hide her hesitation by keeping a firm grip on her elbow.
“My stepsister, when presented with an audience, is someone who takes pleasure in causing pain. Tomorrow the papers will be filled with rumors.”
“We’ll ignore them. The scandal sheets will find something else for the grist mill soon enough.”
She nodded her head in agreement, but the shadows didn’t leave her beautiful eyes. Whatever Eleanor had said to Sophie had cut deep. His jaw tightened as he experienced a violent urge to throttle Eleanor. Ushering his wife into their box, he realized it was the second time in the space of five minutes that he’d been filled with the violent urge to protect Sophie at any cost. As they took their seats, he saw the crowd stir and look upward at them. A tremor shot through Sophie, and he leaned toward her.
“Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?”
His words brought a flush of color to her cheeks. For the first time since she’d rejoined him in the lobby, her eyes were no longer haunted by some unknown burden. Her laughter made him grin as he realized how much he enjoyed seeing his wife happy. Flicking open her fan in an elegant gesture, Sophie shook her head as she smiled at him.
“Either you’re trying to make me forget that we’re the sole topic of conversation this evening or that brandy you had before we left home has dulled your senses.”
“So in other words, my being a scoundrel makes it impossible for me to pay you a sincere compliment.” He heard the irritation in his voice, and she looked at him in surprise.
“No, not impossible,” she said quietly as she reached out to touch his hand in an apologetic manner. “I’m simply under no illusions as to my attractions.”
“You have many attractions, my darling wife. The kind that make other men sit up and take notice,” said with renewed anger as he remembered Milliard’s comments.
“Now I’m certain you’re teasing me.”
“I assure you, I’m not,” he bit out. “Just a few moments ago, the man standing next to me in the lobby said you were ravishing. And he was right.”
Her eyes widen in surprise as he took her hand in his and turned it over to examine her wrist. The round opening in her evening glove revealed a small circle of skin large enough for his finger to press into. Following the edge of the silk circle, he trailed a path across her skin with his forefinger. She trembled at the touch and he smiled.
“Is it so difficult to believe that a man would find you exquisite, Sophie?” he asked quietly. “Even your husband?”
Hazel eyes wide with surprise and puzzlement, she didn’t answer. A sudden, overwhelming need to convince her of his sincerity swept through him. In a quick move, he turned her hand over and lifted it to kiss the back of her hand.
“I am a fortunate man to have you at my side, sweetheart. There is no other woman worthy of the Countess of Devlyn title,” he said with a quiet sincerity that startled him.
“Thank you, Quentin.” Her hand trembled in his as she bowed her head. “I’ve never had a nicer compliment.”
“Not even the one I paid you by suggesting I escort you to the opera?” he said with a wry smile. “After all, it was my idea that we attend this evening.”
“I think such a sacrifice qualifies more as a marker to exact some punishment from me in the future.”
She laughed and gently pulled her hand from his. He didn’t like the fact that he was no longer touching her. Holding Sophie’s hand in his created a sense of peace and calm he’d only ever experienced in her presence. He leaned closer to press his hand against her knee.
“I’m here because I want to be,” he said with quiet sincerity. As her gaze met hers, he frowned as he caught the glimpse of tears shimmering in her eyes.
“What is it, sweetheart?”
“I’m simply happy.”
She smiled at him, and he raised her hand to his mouth again. The sudden dimming of the lights in the theater forestalled him from saying anything further as the orchestra struck up the first notes of the evening. For more than a half hour, he sat with growing impatience at the caterwauling coming from the stage. Bloody hell, he was definitely going to call in his marker on the torture he was enduring tonight. He smiled slightly as he contemplated all the delicious things he was going to do to his wife as her penance for his attendance tonight. For at least the tenth time, he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Sophie glanced in his direction.
“For heaven’s sake, Quentin. All your fidgeting is distracting,” she whispered. “I know you’re not enjoying this, just go. I shall be perfectly fine here by myself.”
“My fidgeting is simply because I’m waiting for the proper moment to seduce my wife in a public place.” His words made her gasp softly as she glanced at him.
“You’re mad,” she said as she kept her gaze focused on the performance in front of them.
“No, Countess, not mad. Simply adventurous. Think about it. You enjoy my fingers sliding through those dark curls between your legs. What if I were to touch you like that, here, this very moment.”
“You wouldn’t,” she said in a strangled voice.
“It would be exciting, don’t you think. Think about the danger of it.”
“I don’t want to think about it.”
“Why not? What if I were to draw you into the darkness behind the box curtain here and make love to you within earshot of all these people.”
“Now you’re being absurd.” He watched her breasts as they rose and fell at a rapid pace. Although she kept her gaze on the stage, he knew the opera wasn’t holding her attention.
“I don’t recall you thinking it absurd last night when I was sucking on those glorious nipples of yours.”
“Oh my God, why are doing this?”
“Because I like knowing you desire me, Sophie.” The soft rasps of her breathing ignited a heat inside him he was certain would never be quenched. “Are your nipples hard like I like them, my darling wife?”
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��Quentin, please,” A barely audible moan passed her lips.
“Are they?” he demanded as a sudden uncontrollable need for her rolled through him.
“Yes, damn you.” Hazel eyes wide in her face, she turned her head to look at him. Desire glowed in her gaze, and he smiled.
“And once I finished with your nipples, I’d find it equally pleasurable to put my mouth against you so I could drink that delicious cream of yours.”
“Please, Quentin. Stop.” Her fan fluttered frantically in front of her face as he watched desire softened her profile, until she was even more beautiful than she’d been before.
“Tell me, my darling wife. Are you wet there now? If I were to stroke that sensitive little nub of yours would you buck against my hand like a wild thing?”
“Oh God.” Her voice was hoarse as a shudder shook through her. He smiled with satisfaction.
“No matter how small the orgasm, they’re still quite gratifying, wouldn’t you say so, Sophie?”
He waited for her to respond, but her only reply was small, rapid breaths. The sound made him smile, and he relaxed back into his seat. For the first time that evening, he experienced a deep satisfaction that even without touching her, he could make his lovely wife come for him, even in a public place. He didn’t even mind the wailing coming from the stage. He was content simply to sit beside Sophie and contemplate the night to come. He would drive her wild until she sobbed his name with all the passionate intensity he knew she was capable of.
“You are looking far too complacent,” she said in a fierce whisper behind her fan. Frustration echoed in her voice, and a low chuckle parted his lips as he leaned into her. The soft musky scent wafting off her filled his senses.
“Am I?” He grinned.
“Yes. You are.”
She glared at him before returning her attention to the stage. He grinned at the look of irritation on her face. In all likelihood, it would take a great deal of coaxing on his part to earn her forgiveness tonight, but the effort would be a pleasurable one. For several minutes, he watched his wife staring down at the stage performance, remembering the first day they’d met.
Never in his wildest dreams would he have thought to find himself a happily married man. He and Sophie were well suited in bed and out. What more could a man want? Even now, listening to music he despised, he was content simply to sit at her side and enjoy watching the pleasure on her face as she enjoyed the performance. Sophie waved her fan lightly in front of her face. She leaned toward him.
“Forgive me, my lord, but I’ve been remiss in overlooking your needs this evening.”
“My needs?” He eyed her carefully in the shadows. A slow smile curved her lips as she turned her head and met his gaze. It was the look of a seductress, and he immediately realized he was in trouble.
“Yes, my lord, surely you are in need of something hot and wet to sink into.”
Her gaze returned to the opera performance below them as her hand slid discreetly up his leg to his crotch. Her touch was light as she brushed her fingers across his cock. He was solid and firm in an instant. Without looking away from the stage, Sophie’s fingers toyed with his trouser buttons as if she might undo them and take him in hand right then and there. He drew in a sharp hiss of air. Bloody hell, never in his wildest imaginings had he ever thought she would retaliate with such reckless daring.
“Are you offering to take me in your mouth, Countess?” he rasped as desire barreled through him.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? I can feel how hard you are. Imagine how much harder you’d be if I took you in my mouth.”
Her palm caressed him, and he barely managed to suppress the groan waiting to escape his mouth. God but the woman was a temptress, hell bent on exacting due payment for his earlier temptation.
“Christ Jesus, Sophie. Have a care before I explode right here and now.”
“As I recall, husband, you started this little game. I think it only fair that I play my hand as well.” Amusement echoed in her voice as she rubbed his erection again. Her pun was not lost on him, and he choked on a dark groan.
“Damnation,” he rasped.
“Surely you don’t want to quit now? Especially when my mouth is so willing to assuage your need.” Her words made his cock grow tight with the exquisite pain of anticipation. “Shall we make use of that dark corner you mentioned to indulge in sin, my lord?”
Satisfaction curled the corners of her mouth as she slowly pulled her hand off of him. As she turned away to watch the performance on the stage below he uttered a low growl of frustration. Sweet Jesus, but she’d turned the tables on him. A fire burned inside him, and he wanted to drag her out of the opera house and carry her home never to leave her side.
How the hell had he come to such a passion? He’d never had a woman twist his insides like Sophie did, not even Eleanor. No woman had ever provoked such a primitive, carnal need inside him while at the same time arousing a tenderness within him that made him want to share all things with her. But his beautiful, wanton Countess had merely to smile and utter a few well-chosen words and he was at her mercy.
He’d never realized loving someone could do all of that and more. The thought made him grow still in his seat. It wasn’t possible. How in the hell could he be in love with his wife? He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and looked at Sophie. Did she love him? Quentin grimaced at the question. She’d never given him any indication that she cared, and yet she never shied from his company. He changed his position in his seat again, and Sophie immediately turned her head toward him.
“Oh for heaven sakes, Quentin, go,” she whispered with an exasperated smile. “I promise to thank you properly for your gallant attempt tonight.”
The suggestive curve of her lips made his heart crash in his chest. God, help him. She was the most bewitching creature he’d ever seen, and if he didn’t leave her, he’d make a fool out of himself. He caught her hand in his and turning it over, he pressed his lips to the small circle of skin her gloves couldn’t hide. He raised his head to see her looking at him with an expression of surprise. Without a word, he rose from his seat and left the theatre box.
In the quiet hallway, he stood still for a moment, one shoulder pressed into the wall. The Devil of Devlyn had fallen in love with his wife. No scoundrel worth his weight would ever do such a thing, and yet here he was. God, he needed a drink. No, he needed several drinks. He needed to drink himself into a stupor. That or find a mistress. With a snort of disgust, he rejected the idea. There wasn’t anyone else for him, but Sophie.
“Fuck.”
Quentin pushed himself away from the wall and strode down the passage. As he entered the vestibule at the top of the stairs, which connected the corridors lining both sides of the theatre, he saw Eleanor coming toward him.
How could he have ever thought her beautiful? Even from this short distance, it was impossible to ignore the hardness of her blue eyes or the calculating twist to her finely shaped lips. He turned away and started down the steps. Her voice forced him to stop.
“Devlyn, surely you’re not leaving. I’ve not even had a moment to offer you my congratulations.”
“Forgive me, Lady Shively, but I have no need of your congratulations.” He slowly turned his head to meet her gaze.
“You’re being far too cruel, Devlyn.” Eleanor’s mouth parted in a pout that he’d once found seductive. He grimaced with disgust as she moved forward to touch his arm. “The past is behind us. You’re my brother-in-law now. Surely we can at least be civil to each other for Sophie’s sake.”
“Civil?” Quentin snorted in disgust and narrowed his gaze at her testing a theory. “As civil as you were to Sophie earlier this evening?”
“It was nothing more than a sisterly spat,” Eleanor said in a defensive tone. “I’m certain she misinterpreted everything I said.”
Quentin eyed his sister-in-law coldly as her response confirmed his suspicions. He no longer harbored any doubt that whatever Eleanor had said t
o Sophie had inflicted pain. The bitch had the tongue of a viper. He knew that from experience when he’d refused to marry her.
“Sophie is not one to misinterpret the words of others who wish her ill, Lady Shively. My wife is far too intelligent.”
“Perhaps,” Eleanor said with a smug smile. “However, I do admire her cleverness in hiding her true nature.”
“What are you talking about,” he snarled as fear clawed at his tense muscles.
“Why the fact that she’s a bastard of course.” The smug satisfaction on Eleanor’s face made him take a step forward, and she flinched.
“If you ever repeat that to another living soul, I’ll make you pay an unimaginable price,” Quentin said in a deadly quiet voice that made Eleanor pale before a calculated look crossed her face.
“Really, Devlyn, your defense of your wife would make one think you’re in love with her.” Eleanor’s words made him go rigid. Christ Jesus, were his feelings so obvious. A small gasp of amusement, followed by a familiar brittle laugh made Quentin flinch. “Oh how positively delightful. You are in love with her.”
“Remember what I said, my lady. Your social status is more easily destroyed than Sophie’s,” he said through clenched teeth. Before he turned away, he had the satisfaction of seeing Eleanor go white with fear.
“Do take care, Devlyn. In the morning, the scandal sheets will report that the Countess of Devlyn was overheard saying she was not in love with her husband.” There was a gleeful note in Eleanor’s voice that sliced into Quentin’s gut.
Ignoring his sister-in-law’s venomous laughter, he strode down the stairs and out of the theatre. God help him. Was Eleanor telling the truth? Had Sophie actually said she wasn’t in love with him? If there was one thing he knew for certain, it was that Eleanor never missed the opportunity to insert her daggers wherever she could. She wouldn’t hesitate to tell him the truth if it suited her perverted sense of vengeance. The thought was enough to twist his gut into knots.
Throughout the ride home, he tried to comprehend what course of action he should take, but he still had no answers when the carriage rolled up in front of Devlyn House. In a foul temper, he strode up the steps, through the front door, and straight into the library. A good stiff drink was what he needed. Something to deaden his senses until he didn’t feel this gut wrenching despair.
